Common Knowledge
by weepingrace
Summary: Dean and Cas are an item. They have been keeping their relationship a secret from Dean's parents since Dean – to put it simply – is scared shitless. Because really, who knows how they would react? Unfortunately for him, Dean doesn't even get to tell them at all, because they walk in on him and Cas snuggling. Well, fuck.


**Common Knowledge**

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**Author**: SupernaturallyAttracted

**Summary**: Dean and Cas are an item. They have been keeping their relationship a secret from Dean's parents since Dean – to put it simply – is scared shitless. Because really, who knows how they would react? While Dean is slowly trying to approach the topic with his parents, he never really does broach it. Unfortunately for him, Dean doesn't even get to tell them at all, because they walk in on Dean and Cas snuggling and kissing.

Well, fuck.

**A/N**:  
Dedicated to Uli. May you have the merriest Christmas of all time.

Okay, so I used a tumblr prompt, because I really did have some Teen Angst Destiel feels. (Also thought about writing a separate OS with the road trip I am referencing. Leave a comment if you'd be interested in that!)

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural does not belong to me, and I am honestly not making any money from this.

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Dean Winchester was pretty much aware of how he complicated his own life over and over _and over_ again and then some.

It wasn't even intentional as much as it was reflex. Because he didn't do talks about _feelings_, and even if he got over that part of his personality for Cas that didn't mean that he could simply do the same when talking to his parents.

Honestly, it also wasn't like Dean was ashamed of Cas being his _plus one_ in every aspect of his life (more than that – Dean was very proud that Cas would even have him).

Hands down, Castiel Novak was probably that one person Dean was legitimately serious about; and he was also the first person that Dean could bring home without scaring his parents shitless.

But see, that's where the problems began.

Rationally, it was obvious to him that his parents shouldn't mind. They did know Cas (they had been best friends for what? Ten years, now?) and they did adore him, thinking him to be quite a positive influence.

On the other hand, however, Dean hadn't come out to his parents yet. He liked to tell himself that it was simply because it never came up, and he seriously couldn't have predicted that he and Cas would be a thing in the near future, yadda yadda yadda.

At least Dean liked to say that – Sam called him out on his bull shit soon enough because let's face it: everyone had seen that Dean and Cas had it coming ever since they spent their holidays on a road trip together last July.

Either way, he did try to approach that topic; but they never got further than politics talk at the dining table. And while it was nice to know that Mary and John supported "equality of everyone" and voted Democratic, that didn't mean that they'd be inevitably cool about their own son being that kind of … diverse.

See, that's the main difference when it came to Dean and Cas; Cas honestly didn't care all that much about what his parents thought, and he simply figured that his brothers were mainly really understanding (supporting, even). With Dean, it was nothing like that; he _knew _that he had Sam's full support, and that made him quite happy. But he also cared a great deal about his parents. Sure, he had told Jo and Charlie and Ellen – after manning up he also came out to Bobby.

It was somehow different, though. Not that he could really define _why. _It just _felt _different, made him want to throw up at the mere thought that someday he'd _have _to tell them, would have to endure whatever reaction they might have.

And so Dean always tried so hard to gather the courage to tell them, but even with Cas sitting next to him in a 'friendly' fashion to support him, he always backed out last second, thinking _today is not the day._ Both John and Mary usually just looked really confused before accepting the sudden forced change in topic without further questioning.

(That was another curse as well as blessing within their family: they just never asked questions. Maybe if they did, this wouldn't be so hard. Maybe it would be even harder. He was not entirely sure about this point.)

And _thank god_ that Cas was as patient with Dean as he simply was. Dean would probably have dumped himself ages ago, really, if he had to wait that long for the other to come around.

(You can probably guess how limited public affections were, considering how everyone in this town knew everyone – and the danger that someone might tell Mary and John was eminent. While he had no clue _how _exactly to tell them, he knew that it had to be face to face. That way he might be able to mend a few broken pieces in case who he really was would shatter whatever perfect view his parents had of him – while he hoped it would not come to that, he just couldn't be sure, couldn't really know. That was probably the most torturous aspect of the whole affair: he just _couldn't know_.)

Turns out that, even though Cas was willing to wait as long as Dean would need, destiny wasn't quite up for that.

Dean was so 100% sure that no one, _not a single soul_, would be at home that weekend. He had checked, double-checked, even triple-checked if his parents did book the hotel room during the correct days, and he asked again and again if Grandma Deanna was really going to look after Sammy.

_Yes_, life had seemed to yell at him, _Cas and you totally can have some quality time now_.

Because believe it or not, quality relationship time was quite shortened if you couldn't be publically _or _at home affective. If it weren't for his best friends (who didn't mind snogging and long, intense staring and marathon hand holding most of the time), Dean might have gone mad with hormones and affection and even – dare he admit it – the strong wish for chick flick moments with Cas.

So the idea of Cas coming over, spending the weekend with Dean? That sounded like _the _plan.  
(Weekends with Cas usually never failed to make him a little nervous, seeing how their relationship had yet to overcome that phase of obsessive groping and grinding. Still, he was also giddy with simply the idea of seeing Cas for more than the regular duration of a school day and homework afternoon.)

That general euphoria also made him a little sloppy and perhaps even completely reckless. Because once he had checked that the booking was just fine, that Mary and John would call beforehand (he had somehow implied that a few people might be over – just so he could explain it easily if Cas left stuff behind or something – and his mother understood that as 'throwing a party' and said with a faint smile that she'd give him a fair warning to clear the scene), he'd eventually just assumed it would all be good and great and the mere thought of _Cas_ made him so perpetually giddy that the rest of the world didn't matter.

He simply assumed that all would be alright.

Which, of course, it never really was.

Because, in his life, nothing was ever just alright, without a catch.

Which is tragic, really, since the evening had started nice enough: Cas had come over about an hour after his parents and Sammy had left the house, enthusiastically wishing him a great weekend (Sammy did so while winking at him in a way that let Dean know just how deep in shit he would be if Sam ever decided to go against Dean for whatever reason).

Dean had quickly showered, then put on his comfy plaid pyjama bottom and an old muscle shirt (no use trying to doll up for Cas – he'd already seen Dean at his worst, anyhow) while simultaneously trying to ignore his anxiousness.

(He really knew he shouldn't be nervous – but Cas had always had that effect on him, and probably always would have. Yet, at the same time, Cas also made him feel comfortable and safe once ha actually was around. It was definitely weird, Dean knew, but he couldn't bring himself to mind it, period.)

Just as he was fumbling with the leftovers his mum had set out for him in the kitchen (enough for two people, by far – his mum really did think that boys in puberty needed a whole feast for themselves to grow properly, god bless her), there was a knock to be heard, and Dean's heart actually leapt in his chest.

(God knows Cas made him feel like a nervous twelve year-old on his first date all over again.)

"Door's open!" He yelled in the general direction, unable to leave the kitchen now as he was still fumbling with the food, trying to reheat it without burning anything. (Figuring out their stove had and will always be miles beyond Dean's comprehension, even though he usually was the master of devices.) Cas knew his way around the house, either way, Dean knew that much. The way he could hear Cas taking off coat and shoes, placing his overnight bag on the couch? That was only additional proof, really.

"Dean." Cas greeted, just like always, and the casualty, the _normalcy_, of it was terribly endearing.

In reply, Dean threw him a smirk over his shoulder, winking exaggeratedly, "Hey, babe."

Cas rolled his eyes, but in that fond way that made Dean smile softly before finally stating, "We're having mum's macaroni and cheese today. So, _so_ unhealthy, but also too good to not eat."

"That does seem to be the case with most of Mary's cooking, Dean," Cas reminded him, quirking a smile – but upon taking in the aroma of the food, he sighed, adding, "But the deliciousness definitely outweighs every bit of calorie content."

"A truth I would not be able to deny even if I tried," Dean agreed, eyes trained on the food in anticipation; then, as Cas finally stood next to him, Dean turned to face him, and slung an arm around his waist, leaning in for a short kiss. Uncharacteristically chaste, Charlie had first called a Dean-Cas kiss when she finally saw one. But Dean liked it a lot, liked how freaking domestic it was between the two of them. It felt like foreshadowing, the good kind. "Hope you're up for a Firefly marathon? Re-runs are on, and I'd actually love to watch it again."

"Of course. You know how much I really did enjoy it the first time around." They shared a smile, still embracing each other, still so close, _so familiar_. The moment of gazing into each other's eyes, however, was broken by the angry tone of the kitchen clock. Dean reluctantly removed his arm and turned back to the stove, easy smile on his lips as he thought of how perfect this weekend would definitely be.

And it was awesome, alright. His mother's cooking had always been bomb, and Whedon's Firefly was a thing of beauty (even though cut short brutally).  
Not to mention that cuddling (and yes, Dean Winchester was man enough to call it just that without feeling like a total sap… for the largest part) with Cas was a nice thing. Sure, with former _friends_ (ha!), there'd been more groping and humping and making out. But it wasn't always like that with Cas, and Dean did enjoy that.

(Though, to stay true, his hormonal half very much appreciated _that_ side of their relationship as well.)

Anyhow, they kept it light – the touches, the kisses, the glances. Even later on, when they found themselves on Dean's bed, it was just a lazy making out session, content but not all that eager when it came to taking it further.

(Not because they didn't want to, per se. Rather, because there was no need to be frantic, to rush like usually. They had the occasion to draw everything out, to be relaxed and take their sweet time.)

All of it was their pace, a pace they could decide on, not influenced by the length of their lunch break, or by the short interval they had to themselves between school and the arrival of Dean's parents.  
(Cas' house was way too far to reach without a car, and Dean was rather reluctant when it came to using the Impala. Well, Dean wasn't, exactly, but his dad sure as hell was – always ranting about gas prices and well, he _did_ have a point.)

And just that, just the way Dean could drag his tongue along the line of Cas' collar bones slowly, savouring the way salty sweat blended so nicely with the taste of what was Cas – it was perfect.

(Actually, probably not. They were teenagers, and so sloppy, and in a few years from now, they'd probably laugh about their skills from back then, and Cas would probably pant out just how much Dean's tongue coordination had increased, which Dean would answer with a wicked grin, replying that they should keep practicing, still.  
But right then, it _felt_ perfect, and it was their inexperienced version of perfect, and that was something no one would ever be able to take from them.)

Honestly, though, this was something he'd never forget.  
For numerous reasons.

Reason 1: Making out with Cas, feeling like they'd have all the time the world had to offer. It felt like pure bliss.

Reason 2: Leaving butterfly kisses everywhere, making Cas giggle. (And now, that really shouldn't be as attractive as it was. Making Cas smile and chuckle and laugh and giggle – that was Dean's very reason to be alive.)

Reason 3: Sucking a hickey on Cas' collarbone, and having Cas return the favour. The fact that they barely got to have each other like that made Dean long so much for those little signs that just kept reminding him over and over again, when he was staring at his reflection in doubt, that at least, he wasn't _really _alone – no matter how much it felt like he was. Cas seemed to share the sentiment in his own way.

Reason 4: Just laying there, with Cas, as moon and stars illuminated the room sparsely. Cas was sleeping already, head heavy on Dean's chest, arm and leg comfortably slung over Dean's body. It felt like coming home after weeks of waiting and longing.

Cas always felt like coming home. Had always, even before the road trip, way before they started their romantic arrangements. Even then, Cas had been home and safe and shelter.

Reason 5: It was also that night that Mary and John came home unexpectedly because apparently Grandma Deanna had caught the flu and she just _couldn't_ possibly bear the thought of getting Sam sick, too.

It could all have been so easily prevented, had Dean not turned off his phone as he and Cas had made their way up the stairs to Dean's room. He'd been half asleep by the time he heard the door open; he heard an almost silent 'oh', and then the door closed, leaving his room dark once again.

He had blinked a few times, trying to comprehend what that just was. Then he remembered that this was his _mum's_ voice that had just 'oh'-ed, and he wondered how the _fuck_ he had not heard them earlier, what the hell he was supposed to do know.

Because his mum had just seen him _snuggling_ close to Cas – talking himself out of that just might be close to impossible. And he knew, really he did, that he should come clean now, but…

But; this bed was so safe – here was Cas and here they wouldn't hurt him, not now. If they freaked out, if they rejected him, then he wouldn't have to know for another few hours.

If he just closed his eyes now, went back to cuddling, went back to a happy dream world where all was good and well, where no one judged him over something as trivial and normal as who he loved…

But he couldn't, not at all. His heart was pounding hard; uncomfortable pressure against his ribs. His mouth felt so dry he could barely swallow and, well, that cold sweat breaking out was also a clear sign that sleep just wasn't an option.

Although joining his parents in the kitchen, babbling about how he had a great Friday, and mum, you're cooking kicks ass and by the way I'm gay – that didn't seem like much of an option, either.

So, in the end, when neither his mum nor his dad made another appearance, Dean decided to simply bury his head in Cas' chest for all it was worth, trying to forget for the next minutes, hours or however long his mind allowed him.

Any second that he could spend just thinking about something else would be a glorious second.

Also, he figured that he didn't have much time left in blissful ignorance before he'd _have_ to come clean, and he was so fucking scared, he deserved these seconds, few as they might be.

Only that Dean had forgotten, in that moment of absolute dread and horror, just _how_ his family managed to function without major arguments and mood shifts; there was John, incapable of ever showing emotion unless they were watching a football game or Mary was involved. And Mary, all used to her boys being helpless when it came to talking about feelings, simply let them talk about everything once they felt ready (which usually was never). Sam, while definitely the one who was least emotionally stunted, just didn't really do the talking thing most days, not in the mood to converse when there were so many books to read, so many Maths problems to solve (which was the very reason Dean called him socially impeded and a huge freaking nerd – never mind that Dean made most pop culture references and aced Physics like nobody's business).

And then there was Dean, most emotionally inept among them all.

So, really, if Dean had thought that John would confront him then he really really _really_ was wrong because, god damn, John hadn't even managed to give him _the talk_ when he'd turned thirteen. Just imagine how much more awkward he'd be about this matter.  
(Well, at least the way John was able to ignore this issue in favour of staying silent and ignorant, then that was good for now. Even though Dean was quite unsure whether that would still be enough for him a few weeks from now. He wanted to talk about it, wanted them to acknowledge it. At the same time, really, he didn't.)

Perhaps, you know, Mary could have said a thing about it, asked a question, but she didn't. Dean had forgotten how good she had become at this; giving the boys some space so they could come to terms with things at their pace. But Dean didn't need space and time to mull over thinks because he knew about himself and about what he felt for Cas. He needed someone to give him a reason to spill it all out before he bursts with it all. But it's hardly Mary's fault that Dean barely ever managed to give his thoughts some vocal backup. Giving Dean a chance for distance and thoughts seemed like the thing a good mother would do – only really in this case pushing would not have harmed anyone.

Because wow was Dean slow sometimes.

And then there was Sam, Dean figured, who'd really push and push for Dean to _just fucking say it this is getting ridiculous, Dean_.

But Sam didn't because he had thought, _yeah, this is Dean's thing to sort out – _because really, now he'd practically _have_ to.

However, Dean was unbelievably far from admitting or mentioning _anything_. It was their elephant in the room and they all knew, eventually they'd _have_ to, but no one said a thing. Dean didn't even tell Cas that his whole family practically knew for sure – he had just said that his parents were back, and they should just claim that they did a game marathon or something. It was a blatant lie, and Sam had snorted indignantly, waiting for either of their parents to say something about it.

Only, to both of their surprises, they didn't. Just smiled (Mary in a fond way, John in a very nervous one), and asked Castiel to at least stay for breakfast. And Dean had stared at Sam, begging him to just not, and Sam, in the end, relented and accepted the awkwardness that now had a secured place in their house.

For _weeks_.

And while it made Dean a little twitchy, and even John and Mary seemed more agitated as the days passed, Sam apparently was the only one to be honestly bothered and affronted by all these careful silences and never even uttered words.

Sam definitely wasn't going to lay low until his miscommunicating family got a hold of it all.  
So it was much less getting involved in Dean's business than it was getting involved in the family business. He didn't particularly want to stick his nose in all of it too deep, but every single member of the family basically ached to talk about it, even if they didn't know it yet.

In the end, Sam settled for that one reasonable thing he could do without actually having to say it aloud during dinner: he told Cas.

Cas who still had been blissfully unaware of the tension at home, of the way Dean wouldn't even get more than three hours sleep per night because he feared that someone – anyone – might bright the subject of his sexuality up.

(Sam really had no clue, however, in what miraculous way Dean managed to keep all that from Cas. Usually, he'd tell Cas about literally everything that happened in the Winchester household.)

"Um hey," Sam had said, slight tremor in his voice. If Cas took this the wrong way, or dealt with it the wrong way; Dean would chop off Sam's balls with no remorse, that was for sure. "Can we – We need to talk."

And Cas had stared at him, barely all that interested but a polite smile on his face. They weren't, like, friend friends or something, not at all that close due to the age difference that made Sam too young to hang around Cas until he was at least Sophomore or something. By then, of course, Cas would be out of school just like Dean – but Sam knew the unrealistic dimensions for age gaps when people were still in high school. Dimensions that would seem laughably tiny in a few years, when they were way past the twenties, once four or five years stopped being much at all.

Until then, well, Sam counted himself lucky to even get a smile. Cas rarely smiled unless Dean was close by, and Sam was sure that he wouldn't even have looked up from his book if it wasn't for the familiarity to begin with.

"Yes, Sam?" He inquired, forcibly fighting the distinct frown that tried to sneak its' way onto his features. Even after these past months with Dean – that time had definitely helped him become less socially awkward – he found it quite hard to talk to anyone without frowning or squinting. The fact that he didn't see Sam all that often (because he usually wasn't around when Dean and Cas had their moments) obviously didn't help the matter. Still, he actually did kind of like Sam, and so he tried his hardest.

He had a feeling that Sam knew and did appreciate his tries as the other quirked a small smile at his reply. Then, his smile well again, and he looked at Cas rather sternly.

Now that got his attention; Cas tensed visibly, before adding to his question, "Is it about Dean?"

And Sam just nodded, fast to explain as he saw panic in Cas' eyes. Yes, it was fucked up. But not _that _fucked up, so there was no need to worry Cas too much.  
"Don't freak out on me, please. He's not in imminent danger…" I thinkI

_I think. _"It's just that mum and dad kind of accidently saw the both of you and they know now."

"… I understand," Cas muttered plainly, panic ebbing away. But the concern was still evident on his face, and he actually did frown now. "Have they not taken well to it? Because I am certain that I could talk Gabriel into letting Dean stay at our place until your parents are able to make amendments concerning their stance in this matter."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Another reason as to why Dean and Cas should just marry already. It would be impeccably impossible for Dean to find someone, anyone, who cared as much as Cas and wasn't blood relative. "No, actually. No one reacted in any way, to be honest here. They are all avoiding the topic and it's driving me _nuts_. I don't think that's healthy."

"Well," Cas said, trying to smile in what he thought to be a reassuring way. "In that case, just give them a day or two. They will probably want to talk about it soon, since it is a pressing matter."

"Weeks," He instead remarked, exasperated, "_Weeks._"

Cas' face was blank for a few short seconds before he mumbled, "And he didn't tell me. That certainly does explain why he has been so secluded for the past few weeks. I really did think it were finals that were causing so much trouble."

"You know how he is. He doesn't do chick flick moments, he doesn't do talking about emotions. But honestly, I've had enough of that," Sam claimed, desperately trying to explain just how this wasn't right. "We barely talk about anything at home, barely look at each other during dinner. It's so _tense_ and it's beginning to take a toll on all of us!"

"Yes, I can see why it would. So I gather that you have a plan?"

There now was a red blush straining Sam's cheek as he replied, "No. Well, yes. But not really. I mean, I just think that it would really help if you talked to Dean. Not, like, talk him _into_ talking to them, just… Reassure him, I guess? Maybe just make sure he at least talk with mum. She really won't be mad, that's not her character, at all."

And Cas, after lots of coaxing and begging, relented – because somehow Sam was right. Not talking was more likely to break the family apart than talking. No matter how bad they took it, at least there'd be a chance of a good outcome. If they all buried this until it blew up in their faces; well, yeah, not so much of any chance then.

However, as you probably have guessed, Dean wasn't so delighted as he found out Cas and Sam were ganging up on him (even though Sam did leave them both alone soon enough), and as Cas pulled the puppy eyes and the reasonability, Dean just sighed in defeat.

"It's not like I'm ashamed," Dean murmured, slumping down on the couch. "I just really don't know where to start. 'I'm sorry' would be a blatant lie and also somewhat degrading. 'You have to accept it' sounds too pushy. And I'm not about to beg them for understanding either since there's not really anything to be ashamed of. But a simple 'I'm gay' doesn't feel right either. Like I owe them more than that."

"You don't owe anyone anything, Dean," Cas insisted, reassuringly. "You are who you are, and there is no way to change any of that. Concealing who you are is in no way a good way to deal with it, either."

And Dean knew, god he _knew_, and he was ashamed to feel ashamed of it all.  
But Dean's mind palace was a dark place, filled with doubts and self-deprecation and denial; denial that he was full aware was misplaced and wrong. And why doubt his parents' love? Or Castiel's love, for that matter?

Dean knew the reason.

His mind was right to make him feel useless and weak and dumb and terribly alone.

Because, ultimately, he was.

He didn't deserve the bits of love people kept throwing at him, didn't deserve to stand tall when he was actually such a meek person.

He just _didn't_.

"Dean."

"Cas." Dean echoed, trying – and failing – to smile.

"You're not worthless. Don't put yourself down, there is no reason to. Stand tall and be yourself. Be brave." Cas said, conviction in his voice.

"But I can't, Cas. I would have done it already if I could."

"Then, let me help. Don't shut me out, don't be afraid of me. I'm _here_, Dean, right now. With you. For you."

Dean nodded, meekly, as Cas took a hold of his hand, and said, "You're not alone. Just let me help you. Let us be brave, together."

"… Yeah. I think I'd like that." Dean replied, feeling his eyes burn hotly. But he didn't cry, of course. Dean Winchester didn't cry. Never. "Thank you, Cas. I appreciate more than you could ever know."

And Cas smiled, like it was the most self-evident thing in the world that he would help, that he would support him.

Then a sudden realisation hit him, in its' intensity like a blow straight to the gut.

This – his hand in Cas', Cas supporting him without a single trace of doubt, and Dean trusting him without so much as a moment's hesitation – this was as natural and self-evident and indisputable as it gets.

Dean felt reassured. Of course he was still scared shitless, but Cas was right. He was gonna do this. He had to do this. And he would stop being a fucking pussycat about this.

(Of course this was so much easier said than done. But Cas was there. It was okay, it had to be.)

So, yes, confident might have been a wrong word. Maybe less, you know, terrified. That was Dean's general state as he found himself in the living room, his mother on the couch, looking up in confusion before greeting them both with a smile.

(And thank fuck John was due in only half an hour. Because both at once? Im-fucking-possible.)

"Mum," Dean had said, and was there a stutter in his usually so controlled voice? "We need to talk."

And Mary looked up – Dean felt like his heart was in his fucking knees, and thank god for Cas, steadying him without even having to talk at all.

"I know," She simply said, and she smiled. "I've always had my suspicions, to be honest."

Then, she smiled at Cas, who looked somewhat taken aback. (Not by far as stunned, though, as Dean felt and looked – he was practically gaping.)

"Then, why," And Dean trailed off, not sure what to say. "Why."

"I just thought it'd be best to let you figure it out your own way. I'm just a little sad that it took you so long, but I understand," And she stood up, embracing her son tightly, hands resting on his back. "Dean, whatever made you think _I _would mind? I love you, Dean. So much, it sometimes stuns me. I love all of you, because that is what family is. And we love you. Sammy and I and Bobby and Ellen and Jo. And John, John too. You should talk to him, sweetie."

"I know." He said, and again that burning sensation in his eyes. But Dean Winchester wouldn't cry. Nope. Not at all.

He then hugged back, holding on to her, burying his nose in her soft hair, "I love you, mum."

With a smile, she let go, and then asked, "John will be home soon. Do you want me around, or…?"

Dean shook his head no, "I can do this alone. I have to do this alone, actually."

Mary and Cas both understood, and she graciously offered to show him her new stove that was located in the kitchen.

Surprisingly, this was a good feeling. Relief, mostly, but also a heavy burden lifted from his shoulder. Even if his dad resented him, afterwards, he still had his mother's support. And Sam's. And Cas'.

He could do this, he thought. And he felt brave – up until the moment when he heard the front door slam shut, heavy and familiar footsteps announcing John's arrival.

_Shit,_ he thought then, panicked, _shit shit shit I can't do this alone._

But he couldn't really go running now, now that John was already in the same room, looking at him slightly bewildered, as if knowing what was to come. Dean took a deep breath, before looking at his father pointedly.

"Dad, I –" He coughed slightly, trying to cover up that stutter. "I need to talk to you."

John opened his mouth to reply. Then, apparently, he thought better of it, and motioned for Dean to go on.

"I'm," He said, paused and then thought, _fuck it, this is for Cas, and me, and what we have. Just fuck it all_, and then he blurted out, fast and shushed and nervous, "I'm gay."

Still, his father looked at him in silence, even more bewildered than before.

But Dean just repeated, louder, more confident, "I'm gay, and Cas is my boyfriend, and I don't care if you judge me. This is who I am."

Silence.

Dean, almost screaming by now, added, "And fuck you if you think I need your fucking allowance to love who the fuck I want! And fuck you even more if you hate me because of something trivial as this!"

This, however, seemed to snap John's coherency back into action, and he replied, quite stunned and confused, "Wait. You think I'd _hate _you? Or _judge _you? Dean, you are my son. I have raised you, I have protected you, I have always cared for you. I, yes, I know, I'm bad at words and, shit, I –"

John stopped, looking nervous, and Dean was now the stunned one, the silent one.

"I've had months to think about this, Dean, ever since Mary first mentioned that she suspected things. There was a time when I thought, _no, it can't be_, but the longer I mulled it over, I just. You know, when you care so much for someone that they could be serial killers and you'd help them hide the body instead of turning them in? Okay, no, fuck. That analogy is shit, because there's nothing to hide and murder and gay aren't comparable. But, you get what I'm trying to say right?"

Dean was so baffled; he hadn't been this shocked ever since Cas first told him the magical three words. He just continued gaping.

"You're making me say it, aren't you?" John sighed, looking at the ground with a nervousness that Dean had never seen on his father. "I do want you to be happy Dean, however you want to do that. And I love you. You are my son and I love you so much."

"Dad…" Dean choked, before hugging his dad tightly. And John returned the hug, choking a little himself. As they parted, Dean's cheeks were strained with tears, tears that Dean Winchester would deny later on, always, because Dean Winchester didn't cry.

He just didn't.

And neither did John Winchester.


End file.
